


may your days, may your days, may your days

by endlesshydrangea (bloominsummer)



Series: kiss me under the mistletoe 2020 [3]
Category: K-pop, SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Baking, Banter as a Display of Affection, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, Kissing in the kitchen, Lots of kissing, M/M, Polyamory, k i s s i n g, kissing in front of the fireplace, kissing in the bedroom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27903931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloominsummer/pseuds/endlesshydrangea
Summary: When this year’s holiday rolls in with a major winter storm as a requisite, Seungkwan decides that it’s due time they bake some cinnamon rolls. Chan can only hope they don’t burn the whole place down trying, considering they have nowhere to wait out the bad weather but inside.
Relationships: Boo Seungkwan/Chwe Hansol | Vernon, Boo Seungkwan/Chwe Hansol | Vernon/Lee Chan | Dino, Boo Seungkwan/Lee Chan | Dino, Chwe Hansol | Vernon/Lee Chan | Dino
Series: kiss me under the mistletoe 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2042560
Comments: 11
Kudos: 94





	may your days, may your days, may your days

**Author's Note:**

> written for anonymous, under prompt a free prompt!
> 
> this was randomly chosen by a number generator, but i’m so happy because!! finally!!! i can write maknae line ot3!!!! ;; i’ve been wanting to for so long but the cards haven’t fell where i wished they would i guess.

Chan wakes up alone in an empty bed despite having gone to sleep spooned by Seungkwan on one side and Hansol on the other. He turns on his stomach, catching the faint scent of Seungkwan’s night body cream coming off the sheets, then rolls to the other side to get a whiff of Hansol’s aloe vera shampoo from his orthopedic pillow. If he concentrates, he can hear voices coming from the living room, which means Chan has nothing to worry about. His boyfriends weren’t kidnapped overnight while he was busy snoring into the mattress.

And even if Santa were to round up all the naughty boys in the world, he would’ve only taken Seungkwan and left Hansol unharmed.

He thinks he can get away with sleeping for another hour or so, until the bedroom door opens and Hansol’s standing by the threshold with a cup of hot chocolate in his hands. Chan’s eyes are closed, so technically there is no way for him to tell that he’s awake, but Hansol has always had this weird sixth sense when it comes to people and their state of consciousness.

“Come on,” he says to Chan, who plays dead to the world. “I know you’re awake already.”

Groaning, Chan uncovers his head from beneath the mountain of blankets and rubs his eyes to eliminate traces of sleep from the corners, then blinks twice to let them adjust to the lighting of the bedroom.

“What time is it?”

“Almost noon.”

“Huh?” He looks for Hansol’s figure, finding his boyfriend sitting at the edge of the bed. “I thought we were going shopping this morning?”

“We were,” Hansol offers the mug in his hand to him once Chan is sitting upright. Hansol’s pillow is propped against his stiff back. “Change of plans.”

He accepts the mug from Hansol and leans in for a kiss, which Hansol gives to him without a second thought. Seungkwan would definitely lecture him for asking for some tender loving care before he brushes his teeth, but Hansol is nice like this. Nice enough to smile gently into the kiss, allowing Chan a taste of the cinnamon powder crumbing his lips.

“What happened?” he questions Hansol when he pulls away. “If it’s about me not waking up on time, you could’ve thrown a bucket of cold water over me.”

“That seems a bit extreme.”

He shrugs. “Seungkwan actually did it to me once.”

To be fair, he did somehow sleep through all nine of his alarms on the morning of Seungkwan’s oldest noona’s wedding, therefore he fully deserved the subsequent cold-shoulder treatment he received from Seungkwan on that day.

“My point still stands.”

“So…?”

“We’re locked in,” Hansol explains, pointing outside the window instead of the door for some reason. Chan waits for his elaboration, but he should have known he’s not getting any unless he asks for one.

“Locked in how? The door’s jammed or something?”

Hansol rises from the bed and walks toward the window, pulling the curtains open. Chan expects rays of sunlight to enter through the glass and brighten the room, but soon enough he realises he’s not getting any. He takes a sip of his hot chocolate, careful not to let it burn his tongue, then goes to join Hansol. Hansol wraps an arm around his waist the moment he’s close enough to do so and Chan rests his head on his shoulder.

“That’s some heavy snow,” he voices his observation as he looks outside, touching the glass panel that feels icy under his touch.

“Not just heavy,” corrects Hansol, thumb gently rubbing over Chan’s hip bone over his sleep shirt. “It’s a sudden storm. Seungkwan tried to open the door earlier and now there’s water all over the foyer from the snow that rolled in.”

Stubborn as always, that one.

“Speaking of which.” He pecks Hansol on the lips once more before pulling away completely, walking toward the ensuite bathroom. “I’ll wash up a bit and come join whatever you guys are doing outside.”

“We’re baking.”

“Ba—” Chan stops in his tracks and turns around to fix Hansol a puzzled look. “Baking,” he deadpans, questioning the rationale behind this decision. “We’re baking on the one day that we can’t afford to set the house on fire? If it goes down in flames, you do realise we will burn with it. _In_ it.”

“That’s why I came to wake you up.”

 _Wise man_ , Chan thinks. Well, he supposes he’s always known how wise Hansol is. He’s taken both Seungkwan and Chan as significant others, after all. That must say something about his state of mind.

The idea of Seungkwan baking something, anything at all, doesn't register with Chan until he’s standing in the kitchen, a pastry mat sprinkled with flour laid above the counter, his boyfriend assessing the situation with his hands on his hips. Seungkwan is looking at the rolled dough like it’s a battle plan he needs to figure out.

“Morning,” he greets, opting for a friendly tone. “Whatcha doing?”

“Did you brush your teeth?” Seungkwan asks sharply. How typical of him.

Hansol shoots him a warning look from Seungkwan’s left to make sure Chan is on his best behaviour, so he refrains from rolling his eyes the way his instincts told him to.

“I did. Washed my hands and face, too.”

“Good,” the older says, then he’s pulling Chan by the front of his shirt. Their lips meet in the middle for a chaste exchange and Chan slides a hand over Seungkwan’s nape, caressing the short hairs he finds there. The locks are smooth to the touch, just as Seungkwan’s warm skin is, just as his plush lips are. “Good morning,” he whispers against Chan's lips, an unintentional dose of tenderness seeping into his speech. “We are baking.”

“And what are we baking?”

“Cinnamon rolls.”

“Seems easy enough.”

“It would be, if we had any reception,” Seungkwan whines petulantly, pulling at Chan’s shirt and stretching it to his heart's desire. “The storm knocked out the internet and my phone’s signal is at G. G! We’re up to what nowadays, five Gs? And I only have one.”

Chan kisses him again to placate Seungkwan’s annoyance and when he pulls away Hansol is asking for his share of affection, so he reels him in with a guiding hand on his chin and kisses him, too. It’s funny how giddy he still feels kissing the two of them after all this time. Kissing just seems like such a mundane act compared to the wilder escapades they’ve had, but the joy it brings Chan to have the familiar curves of their mouths fitted over his own is forever irreplaceable.

“Don’t worry,” he taps Seungkwan’s butt lightly, earning himself a death glare. “I got this covered. Where’s the filling?”

“Here,” Hansol supplies.

“Butter, brown sugar, cinnamon?” Chan presents the question to Seungkwan, who most likely put himself in charge of preparing the filling.

Seungkwan rests his chin on Hansol’s shoulder, hugging him from behind. “With vanilla extract, yes.”

“Awesome,” Chan praises him, making Seungkwan beam with pride. “See, you don’t need recipes.”

He gets to work then, spreading the filling evenly above the dough until every inch is covered with the gorgeous brown colour. The smell is sweet, but not as sweet as the kisses Seungkwan keeps placing on his cheeks, his jaw, the back of his neck. Hansol has to pull Seungkwan away from him a few times when his attacks bring Chan to the verge of dropping the filling bowl.

“Alright,” Chan leans back to admire his work after a minute or two. Satisfied with the result, he announces that it’s time for the next step. “Now we roll.”

“You’re so incredibly sexy when you’re competent,” Seungkwan sighs and Hansol chuckles at how genuine he sounds saying that. “What? I’m only being honest.”

Chan just shakes his head, more fond of Seungkwan’s words than anything else. When he’s done rolling up the dough, he reaches for the knife laid waiting at the side of the mat.

“How thick do you want the buns to be?”

He knows the moment the words leave him that he just opened himself up to one of Seungkwan’s smart comebacks. There’s this characteristic intake of breath Seungkwan has that always signals his excitement in delivering a retort, and over the years both Hansol and Chan have grown accustomed to looking out for it whenever they’re exchanging stories. Or arguing. Or somewhere in the middle between those two. It’s hard to tell sometimes, especially where Seungkwan is concerned.

But Chan won’t have it any other way.

And he believes Hansol won’t either.

“Come on. You know I like my buns _thick_.”

“You like everyone’s buns thick,” Hansol points out, which earns him a good slap on his backside, courtesy to Seungkwan. “Hey!”

“Stop that. No butt-slapping in my kitchen.”

“ _Your_ kitchen?” The oldest of the three’s voice is raised a couple of octaves higher than his usual register when questioning Chan’s use of the possessive pronoun. Is his falsetto coming out? Chan thinks it might soon enough, if he doesn’t rectify his previous mistake. “I’ve cleaned this countertop more times in the last week than you ever have since we moved into this place.”

“ _Our_ kitchen then.”

“Yeah, that’s better.”

“Do we have heavy cream in the fridge?” Chan looks up at him once he’s done lining up the cinnamon rolls in the pan. They can always go without, but he knows Seungkwan would prefer the buns gooey, and the cream will do just that.

Hansol makes the move toward the fridge to check, taking out a small blue bottle with cream inside. “Uh…” he squints his eyes at the writing on the label. Seungkwan mutters something about an optometrist appointment. “It says thickened cream.”

“That’ll do,” Chan reaches out a hand to take it from him. “We have to warm it up first, though.”

“I can do that,” Seungkwan cuts in. “Let me do it.” Both of his boyfriends know that wasn’t a request.

Unlike Hansol, who’s content enough with watching half of the time, Seungkwan has a need to actively contribute to their cause, no matter what it is. If he could, Seungkwan wouldn’t spend a second awake being unproductive. Chan gives him a kiss for his enthusiasm and lets him snatch the bottle from his hand.

Hansol leans his palms against the counter while Seungkwan absentmindedly hums a carol from the other side of the kitchen. “He’s pretty chirpy this morning, don’t you think?”

Chan snorts. “That’s because we got all of that rage out of his system last night.”

“Don’t say that,” he reprimands Chan half-heartedly, although he starts laughing in earnest; a clear display of his agreement with the previous statement. “He just has his own special way of showing love.”

“If I hadn’t figured that out for years, I wouldn’t be here making cinnamon rolls right now.”

“Okay!” Seungkwan bounds over to them, little happy skips in his steps. “The cream is all warmed up.”

He moves aside to make room for Seungkwan. “You can pour it over the rolls,” Chan gesticulates to the pan, glimpsing hesitation in Seungkwan’s eyes. “Or do you want me to do it?”

“I want Hansol to do it.”

This is part of Seungkwan’s needs too, one Chan understands completely. Baking may seem like an activity like any other, but to Seungkwan it’s the three of them making the most out of an unfortunate turn of events, and Hansol has to be included in their attempt somehow.

Hansol takes the warm bowl from Seungkwan and immediately leans over the pan, doesn’t bother to wait a second for Chan’s instructions before he tips the bowl and lets the viscous liquid coat the rows of cinnamon rolls ready to be baked. Hansol collects the leftover cream from the bowl with his index finger, then licks it clean. Unable to resist his charms, Seungkwan also decides to get a taste of the cream right off of Hansol’s lips.

His heart swells inside his chest at the sight and how happy this holiday season has been for them. No doubt when the bubble bursts later Seungkwan will start to complain about missing out on Boxing Day sales, but as of this moment, all three of them are happy and sated. And that’s the most important thing to Chan.

“We have to wait 20 minutes for the rolls to rise,” Chan tells them. “I’ll preheat the oven in the meantime, then it’s another 20 minutes to bake them.”

“Okay,” Seungkwan looks at him expectantly. “What should we do in the meantime?”

“The power’s on,” Hansol points to the light above their heads. “Why don’t we get cozy by the fireplace, set a movie on or something?”

That does seem like a wonderful idea both in theory and in practice, except Hansol doesn’t factor in Seungkwan’s eagerness into the equation. The moment Hansol finishes setting all the blankets and pillows on the floor, Seungkwan’s already tackling Chan into the mountain of cushions, their lips insistently attaching to one another.

Chan smiles and smiles into the kiss until Seungkwan tells him _stop, I’m kissing your teeth_ , and he dumps his boyfriend’s body on his other boyfriend’s lap so he can put the baking tray inside the oven. When he returns to them again their positions have changed: Seungkwan flat on his back, Hansol bracketing his head in between his forearms. From the way they are connected it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins, or even if there’s room for one more, but as Chan comes closer the intricate loops of limbs unwind to make space for him.

“Why can’t it be holiday season forever,” Seungkwan sighs softly, releasing Hansol’s mouth only to guide him toward Chan. “I don’t want to go to work next week. I just want to watch you two kiss each other until the end of time.”

“I just want to want you two kiss, he says,” Chan teases over the curve of Hansol’s jaw, “that’s exactly how this whole thing started.”

“And now look where we are,” he gestures to the living room in its entirety, the smell of cinnamon from the kitchen filling the surrounding air. “You gotta admit that I always have the best ideas.”

He knows he can’t win in an argument against Seungkwan, so Chan just leans down to kiss him again, carrying out the deed until Seungkwan pushes him away by the chest, frowning. “How long has it been? My mouth is going numb.”

So much for romance. Chan is pouring out the contents of his heart and carving them onto the warm roof of Seungkwan’s mouth, and this is what he gets.

“If it’s been 20 minutes, we would have heard the oven alarm.”

“Just making sure,” he grumbles, pinching Chan’s nose in retaliation. “Let me check on my babies for a bit.” Seungkwan gets up then, not without a struggle because he was practically squished beneath Hansol and Chan’s combined weight. He pads softly to the kitchen area, his two boyfriends watching him go.

Hansol leans his cheek against Chan’s own and asks, “How long do you think before he remembers about the shopping?”

“I’ll give it until after we finish eating the cinnamon rolls.”

“Hmm,” Hansol considers the likelihood of Chan’s prediction, then decides that he’s against it. “No way. Halfway through and he’ll remember.”

He arches an eyebrow in challenge. “Should we bet on it then? Whoever loses shovels the snow out of the driveway after this storm passes.”

“You’re on.”

“Hey!” Seungkwan calls out to them from the kitchen, a childlike liveliness to his tone. “The rolls are like, golden! Shouldn’t we make the frosting now? I want to eat it as soon as the rolls are out of the oven, so we better have the frosting ready for when they’re done.”

“How can one be so unbelievably bossy,” Hansol mutters under his breath and Chan gasps dramatically, not quite believing what he’s just heard.

“Kwannie,” he singsongs, getting up from the floor and throwing a naughty wink in Hansol’s direction. Hansol just rolls his eyes, completely unfazed by the danger he is about to face. “You wouldn’t believe what Hansollie just said behind your back.”

Seungkwan’s ears always perk up in an instant at the possibility of hearing a piece of gossip, especially one involving himself. As he delivers the hot news to his boyfriend’s welcoming embrace, Chan pointedly ignores Hansol’s muted protests coming from behind him, although he does hold Seungkwan back when he snatches the wooden rolling pin from above the counter and is about to whip Hansol with it.

The snow continues to fall heavily outside the window, uncaring to the lives it affects, whether it might come as a blessing or a burden to others. As Hansol leaves a streak of frosting over Seungkwan’s cheek, Seungkwan howling at him in disapproval before asking Hansol to licks it off his face, Chan concludes that at least for the three of them, the storm is a stroke of luck.

**Author's Note:**

> this one was finished on December 5th :] writing this i’ve come to realise i’m bad at describing one small scene in detail, also maybe because i’ve just written Day 11’s piece right before this… the baking steps are like ???? to me. but the main focus is :3 they love e/o :3 so it's okay :3
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/blminsmmr/status/1343200027544440832?s=21) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/bloominsummer/)


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